


you should have been gone from here years ago (you should be living a different life)

by pettigrace



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore, Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Canon Era, Canon Trans Character, Fixing the Indian Lore's Transphobia, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Reincarnation, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27062053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettigrace/pseuds/pettigrace
Summary: When Bhīṣma is faced with Śikhaṇḍī, he learns that his expectations of the other have been wrong.
Relationships: Amba | Shikandi/Bhishma (Mahabharata)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	you should have been gone from here years ago (you should be living a different life)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Against Me!'s "True Trans Soul Rebel".

Bhīṣma is not surprised when the silence within his chamber is disturbed one more; the Pāṇḍavas, his great-nephews, have left only moments earlier after seeking his guidance about tipping the result of the war. Whoever is out there waited long enough to ensure that they would no longer be able to see him. Perhaps this man conferred with them before coming here and is now requesting more details about what he passed on. 

If it is one of his brethren, he will not lie to them. They know of his loyalty, ingrained in him by birth, but they, too, must see that the Pāṇḍavas would be the winners if not for him. He can only explain his reasons. Whatever they make of them, he will not know.

Yet, when the man enters, he is not met with a face that he knows. It is a young one, and yet there is history woven into the skin. Before he can ask for the meaning of this, the man stands tall and announces, “I am Śikhaṇḍī, the one who shall kill you.”

He did not expect Bhīṣma to react with surprise, so he does not falter one bit when Bhīṣma says nothing but waits. It is night, the fight is resting, and thus Śikhaṇḍī would not attack him. He must be here for a conversation, an explanation, perhaps. He shall ask his questions.

“Yet I heard that never has a man who fought you won the match,” Śikhaṇḍī continues. “I wonder, how would I achieve such a feat?” It is an admission of confusion, not a question of guidance, this time. It is refreshing to be met with such honesty.

"You were born in a woman's body," Bhīṣma recalls for Śikhaṇḍī. He had heard, before, of the prince who only pretended to be a man. Now that he sees him before himself, determination stitched into his features, he wonders if the legend was true. “I shall never fight a woman.”

Śikhaṇḍī, however, does not deny it. "That may be true," he answers, "but I have never been a woman. From my birth, I have been raised and felt as though I were a man."

He does look like one as well, Bhīṣma notices as he lets his eyes roam over the other one's body, in a way he would have never allowed himself to if he had truly been a woman. He takes in the lines of his toned arms and the way his clothing falls over the broad shoulders, and finds himself appreciating them more than he should. These are the looks of a fierce warrior, he reminds himself; naturally he would admire them - and of course this one is a man! How could someone ever question that?

Still, tearing his gaze away from where Śikhaṇḍī's hand holds his bow, resting lightly on his hip, he finds… something in his eyes. Something that reminds him of a woman, though not Draupadī, despite the physical similarities between the siblings. 

"You remember me, do you not?" He inquires, trying to place the expression in Śikhaṇḍī's eyes. As he recognizes it as fury, a memory slowly sinks into place.

For a split moment, Śikhaṇḍī looks taken aback, though it disappears again quickly. "I know that you are the one who must be killed, so that my brothers could win this feud." Anger colours his voice, but confusion, too, painted there by Bhīṣma's words. It draws lines onto his face as well, deepening the features in a dark grimace.

Against his will, Bhīṣma lets out a small chuckle. How thoughtless of him to have thought him a woman! No, this surely is a man filled with rightful anger that he does not understand himself, an anger that motivates his every doing beyond his comprehension. 

Yes, he is assured now that he recognizes the fire in Śikhaṇḍī's eyes from years ago. It had been dangerous before, though it had come from someone less capable than the warrior in front of him. And oddly, now he is not frightened, though this person should be the cause of his death. The mindset embraces Śikhaṇḍī better now, even if it is not his own anger exactly, and Bhīṣma… Bhīṣma feels quite drawn to it, in a way.

"In your previous life, I said I could not marry you, as I vowed to never touch a woman," he declared. "In this life, I thought you were a woman and that I could not fight you because of it. I see now that neither of these vows concern you anymore."

Śikhaṇḍī lifts his head at that, confusion written into his features. It says a lot about his intellect that he passes the compliment so easily and focuses on the hidden meaning of Bhīṣma’s words instead. It is yet another quality that Bhīṣma finds himself appreciating. “You speak true,” the young man declares, “yet I am afraid I do not understand what you mean.”

Bhīṣma inclines his head, a little disappointed that he does not understand at once. Still, his patience is stronger than that, and he elaborates, “I had thought that tomorrow, you shall kill me.” There was no other path this fight could take. As long as he is alive, he will have to be on his brethren’s side and fight for them, even though he knows the Pāṇḍavas should be the ones who win. His death is the one thing that will ensure the rightfulness of this war. And yet, seeing Śikhaṇḍī for who he is, Bhīṣma finds that it is no longer possible. Now that he has seen the warrior with his own eyes, he knows that he is no woman and never has been; not in this life, at least. It would be nothing but an offense if he declines the fight to him. 

He finds himself drawn to this man, not because he had thought wrong of him, and not because he would want to know more about the man who has once been Ambā. He seems like a friend and a stranger at the same time, someone Bhīṣma should be familiar with and yet isn’t. It is something that ought to be fixed. “As you cannot win a fight against me,” Bhīṣma continues, and sees a flicker of fire behind Śikhaṇḍī’s eyes, “I am afraid that is no longer possible. Instead, you should consider spending the night with me.”

“The night?” Śikhaṇḍī echoes. Surprise colours his voice, yet it stays calm. “With you?”

Bhīṣma nods. “I knew Ambā, briefly.” There is no recognition in the man’s eyes and Bhīṣma wonders - how much does Śikhaṇḍī understand of the anger in him? He certainly has a right to understand. “But I know nothing of Śikhaṇḍī, as it seems.” He had thought that he did, but has been proven wrong.

Śikhaṇḍī must be curious, too, because he does not hesitate one bit before he nods. 

Bhīṣma nods, a content smile spread across his lips. With one solution of the fight disappearing, they might be able to work out a new one. Together.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Please leave a comment!**  
>  If you liked this, come check out my [tumblr](http://joanthangroff.tumblr.com) or talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/Ll4MDUNBAR).


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